Hi guys, sorry about slacking off, we're having a fabulous summer and it's calling me outside a lot lately. I'm not feeling especially poorly or especially peppy, so hanging out at my bench playing with wood has been a higher priority.

The big project these last few days has been sharpening chisels, it's boring and a lot of work. But, who's gonna do it for me? The truth is, you can't handle the truth! Sal, we live in a world that has wood. And that wood has to be cut by people with chisels. Who's gonna do it? You? You, RiverWild? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for unfinished projects and you curse the power tools. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that honing, while boring, probably saves fingers. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves sharp edges... You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that workbench. You need me on that workbench. We use words like hone, grind, strop...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent creating something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a group who rises and sleeps under the sharp tools I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide them! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a whetstone and get to work. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!

Oh dear, brandy's kickin' in.